Page 11 of A Constant Blaze

“In a manner of speaking. Did your lord send you?”

She curled her lip. “In a manner of speaking,” she mocked. “To Ross, at least.”

“They’re looking for you,” he said casually, nodding downward in the general direction of the islesmen. “Perhaps we should make common cause and flee through the hills.”

She pretended to consider. “I’d rather shoot you.”

His lip quirked. In other circumstances, she might have found him fun. He made no effort to reach any of his own weapons. “Why?” he asked.

“I’ve had a bad day. A bad few days.”

“I can see why you might want to round that off with a bit of murder.”

“Executing a spy,” she corrected. “Though you might not die.”

“Thank you for the faint hope. In return, I offer you the information that the islesmen have been looking for you for some time now.”

“So, I should shoot you quickly?”

“You’re very bloodthirsty for a girl.”

“You have no idea,” she said grimly.

His gaze flickered beyond her, as if he’d seen movement. But Halla was not stupid enough to fall for such an obvious ruse. The distance between them was not great. If she was daft enough to turn and check behind her, he would probably lunge and overpower her before she could loose the arrow. With all those weapons, he had to be a fighting man.

He brought his gaze back to her. “He’s behind you, you know.

She smiled at his naivety. “Who is?”

“Somerled.”

That did jolt her. Not because she believed him, but because he called her brother by name. Without title. A new suspicion dawned, more satisfying and exciting than frightening. In fact, she wanted to laugh.

Until, behind her, Somerled said furiously, “In God’s name, Halla, what are you doing?”

She jumped, and the arrow loosed, whizzing through the air. Somerled’s enraged shout filled her ears as the arrow struck her spy. Interestingly, her victim didn’t cry out at all, although she imagined she saw blood spread at his shoulder where the arrow stuck out. Her brother snatched the bow from her with one hand, yanking her back with the other.

“You stupid little fool! You’ve just shot Malcolm mac Aed, the Earl of Ross!”

*

It could havebeen a lot worse, Somerled acknowledged grimly. The arrow had struck little more than a glancing blow that had nicked the skin, held in place more by the earl’s clothing than by his flesh. Malcolm had pulled it out himself and seemed more inclined to laugh than to demand Halla’s punishment. Possibly because it was embarrassing to have been shot by a girl, especially one’s betrothed. Or because he and Somerled appeared to be friends.

Somerled himself had bound the wound while Halla stood by, hanging her head and deliberately not looking at the injury she’d caused, or the naked, muscled shoulder beneath Somerled’s makeshift bandage. Keeping uncharacteristically silent, she allowed herself to be hauled back down the hill to her women, who clucked over her, scolding.

Ironically, her afternoon’s work did indeed mean that they traveled no farther that day. Instead, they made camp and built a fire, and her betrothed joined them there, which was hardly what she’d set out to achieve.

Apparently little the worse for her arrow, he ate and drank with the men until the sun went down. In fact, she saw resentfully, he appeared to be a great favorite with the islesmen, telling them stories in Gaelic and in Norse that made them howl with glee. He himself seemed quick to laugh and easy to please. Perhaps he thought his charm rather than military prowess entitled him to be King of Scots.

Of course, it was his bloodline that gave him the right. He was the grandson of King Lulach and, by all the old traditions, quite entitled to challenge for the throne. Which would make Halla Queen of Scots. Despite her childish tantrums, she understood perfectly well why Somerled and their father wanted her to marry Malcolm. In a few years, perhaps, she would agree with them, and be glad to be queen and the mother of future kings. Right now, she wanted only to be left alone to play and learn without being delivered to a stranger who didn’t even live by the sea.

For some reason, it made it worse that the stranger himself was personable, that Somerled and the men liked him. That he made no fuss about her shooting him by accident, not even to joke about her, as Somerled did. “You think you were lucky she wasn’t actually aiming at you? She’d have been less likely to hit you if she’d tried!”

Which wasn’t even true.

The women tried to wrestle her back into a gown and comb her hair, presumably to show the earl how presentable she could be if she tried. But Halla refused. She felt, somehow, it would be the final indignity.

But at least she wasn’t obliged to converse with him while they ate. She made sure she and her two women sat on the other side of the fire. Mostly, he didn’t even look at her, although she did once meet his gaze through the flames while the islesmen were busy teasing Somerled. A faint smile lurked on his lips, but as if he’d just left it there for show while he thought. Although his musings were well hidden, the clash of his eyes disturbed her somehow.

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